The Queen
by VoiDreamer
Summary: He knew from the first moment he saw her, that she was destined to rule the kingdom. And though future events would force them apart, their passionate affair of years passed would continue to color their world until the tragic end. *Cousland/Loghain*


Ok...so I'm being a bad girl. I have Finals next week, and work and a six-page essay I need to get writing sometime before Monday...but instead I wrote this, because the idea was SO in my head that I could hardly think of anything else. It's basically a giant 'WHAT IF' that occured to me when I read that the only two Teryns left in Ferelden were those of the Couslands and Loghain. And because I can't help but appreciate a little character study, I wanted to examine what it would be like if Loghain had actually fallen in love with a younger Cousland PC several years prior to the events of the game (which might explain why a female PC is alone at home in a castle instead of at court). In any case, I was wondering how that idea might change the way we see Loghain's character and his mannerisms.

I hope this proves to be an interesting read - I had a lot of fun writing it :) Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I don't own DAO or the characters (they belong to Bioware)

* * *

She was going to be Queen.

The first time he saw her, amidst the other Bann and Arl of the Denerim court, he had known, with every fiber of his being. Lovely though not necessarily beautiful, she had stood with those of her family, the Couslands, and had commanded the attention of all those around her; a natural leader, a paragon of hope amidst the strained tension of court.

He hated her for it.

Hated and loved her, believing her all the more foolish for her willful notions of peace, for what did one know about such a subject without experiencing the horrors of war.

And _he_ knew about war, had killed enough men to know the way blood felt as it splashed on skin and cooled, the way the light left the eyes of men as they lay dying.

She knew _nothing_ of suffering, and yet the thought persisted, teasing him as he continued to watch her from across the hall.

She would one day be _Queen_.

And indeed, he believes himself to be half mad, even when those around him began to murmur in admiration of the younger woman. It is wrong, to agree with her, to listen to her and believe what she says. He is no silly courtier, no court aristocrat used to pretty words and ideals. He has seen the horror of war, he tells himself, and he _will not_ fall prey to the soft words which fall so willingly from her lips.

But it is then that she looks up and catches his attentions on her, and though her smile does not change, and her eyes turn away after barely more than a second, the connection remains. She has seen him now, and knows that he is the reason others resist her ideas the way they do.

For he is the voice of the warriors, the hero of the country, and what he will not tolerate will not be accepted by those who had fought to free Ferelden from its chains. And yet, she is persistent, patient, wearing away at his defense as surely as any tactical maneuver he has created.

And he hates her for it, her brilliance and headstrong confidence that are apparent in every glance she sends him; in every laugh that fills the air of the hall, every 'accidental' brush of her hand on the edges of his tunic.

Truly she will make an exceptional Queen.

Subtle and unrelenting, he finds one day that the court is filled with _her_ supporters and that he has only the smallest sway. She will ruin the country should she continue this way, this idealism that is already becoming all too apparent in the new King. It will destroy everything should he not stop it soon, stop _her_ soon. Enraged though he will not show it, he struggles with his next course of action only to find that once again she is one step faster. And when he finds her waiting by the fireplace of his suit he wonders what it is she hopes to accomplish by meeting with him.

For what can she possibly gain from meeting with the man long since marked as her enemy? What will be said if she is found in his room?

The answer is unlike anything he imagined, and though he tells himself that it is because she is a _woman_, he knows such postulation is nothing more than a lie. Unwittingly he has found the _one_, his equal in all things.

Young though she is, of noble birth and terribly unsuited to be his lover; the realization that she _is_ everything terrifies him though he knows not how he can possibly deny her.

And she is _perfect_, though he knows not how such a thing is possible.

Yet they love desperately, deeply, without reservation, and for once the nightmares of constant battle and warfare to not come to haunt his sleep. But she never stays until the morning, and though she comes to him in the night their relationship in court remains as untouched as it ever was.

For she is still who she is, and his scars will not let him truly forget who and what he is.

But she helps, and every night he finds his solace in her embrace, in the way her body fits his own perfectly and the soft feel of her hair in his hands.

And though he never tells her, it is her mind, her wonderfully brilliant thoughts that have captivated him so completely, that bring him to _her_ chambers in the dead of night. Theirs is a love of soul mates. But even drunk on the depth of their emotion their reality is clear, knowing that each day brings them to an end that is quickly coming into focus.

It is a conclusion that both are too smart to ever speak of.

But the years begin to change the court, and though he continues to remain ever the same, the slow corruption of the courtiers is more than even his young lover can handle.

And yet she remains, unwilling to leave his side, growing steadily more ill.

It is then he realizes they are living on nothing but borrowed time. And so he sets about destroying her, piece by piece, for all to see until there is not a part of her heart that does not bleed. He has to protect her from a court that is now composed of nothing more than dreamers, has to protect the Queen he has seen her becoming. And so he strikes all the harder, wounding her until she is left with only the smallest scraps of her beautiful dreams, desperately pushing her away if only to keep her safe.

But he knows that such things come at a terrible cost, and when at last her tears stop and she leaves court as he wishes, the cost is clear, for he has lost her forever.

The slow passings of years are not kind to him.

The court continues to fall to ruin, and for all of his advice and tactics there is nothing he can do. The young king is too far corrupted with fantasies and myths of heroes to be saved or even salvaged, poisoned as he is to reality. His beloved country, Ferelden, will not last with such a fool on the throne.

And it must, _she _must.

Ferelden is ready for a Queen like _her._

But to find a way to bring _her_ to court once more, to take her rightful place on the throne would take a pain equal to that which drove her away. It would take the jealousy of an Arl to push her, the death of her family to steer her towards revenge, and the very careful placement of her target in the capital where the throne was waiting for her.

And he hears of her deeds, her trials, pain and suffering at the hands of men he sends after her, to test her and make her stronger. His spies are everywhere, and so even though he is content with the knowledge he receives, more continues to reach his ears, until it is that he hears of the man who she has taken as he lover.

Whispers tell him that the man is an ex-templar of the chantry, a Grey Warden, and the bastard son of his friend, the last competent king Ferelden had known.

Alistair_ Theirin, _the man who would come to kill him for his treachery, the only other legitimate claim to the throne, the king to which _she_ would be wed.

The implication weighs heavily on his chest though he refuses to acknowledge why, and so he he forces himself to think of other things, his other goals and not _her_.

And yet he watches her as she draws closer to him, to Denerim, where he knows the final confrontation will occur. He meets her for just a moment as she enters the estate of her ally, Arl Eamon; and though she no longer looks at him with adoring eyes, her mouth no longer capable of those quiet smiles when she looks at him, the thrill when she says his name is still there. He doubts such lingering emotion will ever truly disappear, but he hopes that some way, somehow, his heart with die enough inside so that when she does what must be done it will be _only_ her sword that causes him to die.

He doubts she will ever forgive him for what he has done in his belief to protect both her and country.

But he knows she will not guess until it is too late, and by then she will have no choice but be Queen, just as Rowan before her. And so he stands resolute when she enters the vast chamber of the castle to demand attention at the Landsmeet, and presents her new lover as contender for the throne.

And she will be the Queen, she says firmly in the silence that follows.

Her claim is met with both sneering and clamoring but he will say nothing to defend her, for this is her return to the court where she was once so powerful. It is her rite of passage, and one of the last obstacles standing before her.

When at last he finds himself on his knees before her, having been beaten by her champion, the look on her face strikes him as strangely familiar, resolute in much the same way it was when they first met. And the feelings are much the same as well, undiluted by the passage of time or the circumstances under which they found themselves; for truly they had been enemies once before.

And though he knows that all present at the Landsmeet will hear the words that cross the vast space between them, it is with a small smile that he speaks the phrase that only _she_ will ever truly understand. And as he watches her face crumble, sagging suddenly against her king-to-be, the older man can't help but wonder if she didn't know it would end this way after all.

Strange, but perhaps she had been trying to avoid this conclusion, just as he had known this would be the only ending for their story to play out. But there is no helping their situation now, and so he speaks the words one last time, closing his eyes as she begins to cry in much the same way as when he had pushed her away.

"Maker protect you, Lady Cousland, Queen of Ferelden."

They are the last words he will ever say to her. And though he never has the chance to tell her, the expression of complete peace as bear his body from the hall reminds her of their nights together, what they had once been, had once had…

"Maker protect you…Loghain Mac Tir…_Hero of River Dane_"

_…and what she still harbored in some small portion of her heart._

END


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